Model Behaviour

ARTIST'S MODEL
Nance Thacker © Jan 6/13

I'm looking forward to entering into the world of the artists' model with anticipation and a great deal of fear.
From the age of 30 when I was "discovered" on an errand to a local art school to pick up a schedule for a roommate of mine, to the age of 45, I modelled for studios and art galleries in Victoria B.C., (including Xchanges Gallery where I had my studio) and later in Oakville (most notably for Sheridan College) and Burlington Ontario.
On that fateful day Catherine the great asked, "When you're on your run tomorrow can you pick me up the schedule for the classes at the Banks Street School of Art?"
Why not? I thought.
I was surprised when I stood in front of the registrar wearing my t-shirt and shorts to be asked if I'd like to model. I'd received my B.A. in fine art from McMaster and was very familiar with being on the other side of the easel, but to be there out front?...
I totally surprised myself when without hesitation I responded, "Sure".
And, I had a month to contemplate my decision meaning a time in which to back out of the assignment.
But I didn't and because of that I spent the next 15 years juggling my time as an artists' model amongst my other professions. 30 years ago, appearing fit and strong with good muscle definition, I was a natural, more importantly the moment I disrobed I felt totally natural standing on the podium.

SELF PORTRAIT
Nance Thacker © Jan 5/13

But 15 years have passed. It will not be the same as it was once was because I am not the same as I was. Can I still do it? I have committed myself to 1 night a week for 4 weeks from 7 - 10 p.m.  a time when I'm usually dozing on the couch before I get the second wind that keeps me up from 10 - 1 working on creative projects. Sleepiness at any time of the day in a cold room with heaters and spotlights blazing down on me is a model's challenge as are: sensations of things crawling on my skin and limbs falling asleep. True, in the past, dozing in a "relaxed" pose - I put it in quotes because no pose, no matter how relaxed it appears, is ever relaxing for the model but we make it look so - happened on occasion but I didn't snore back then. This would be mortifying.

Back in the day people asked me what I did on "fat" days, when I felt fat. "I just stand there looking fat and they draw what they see." It was no big deal to me. But, to be old? I don't really know if I'm ready to see myself rendered as a geezer.

Wish me luck.

Yoga with cats

Kitties add to the ambiance of any room.

Christmas is just winding down, as is my digestive system, from yesterday's fabulous feasts. We enjoyed our fill at friends' traditional Christmas brunch (he makes the best eggs bene) and got caught up with their family and friends. After a brief pit/chill stop at home we headed down the road, through a cloud of sleet, for Christmas dinner at my brother and sister-in-law's where we dove in to more delicious, traditional fare. Tales were told, laughs and hopes for the year to come were shared as we lounged on couches fending off post-turkey, post carb, l-tryptophan induced sleep.
So, today we rest and we do yoga...

Maya and Flippy enjoy their Christmas gifts.
"Krinkly" paper is their favourite thing to dive into
before settling down to yoga practice!!

They take their positions for yoga.
Maya moves over to the "princess pillow" to take command.

Every time I go into upward dog this is what I see; they help me concentrate
and have concluded that ujjayi breath is how humans purr.

Then we end with savasana.
Maya shows perfect form

And Flip's elevated it to a fine art!

This is my favourite way to start boxing day, or any day for that matter. As my yoga buddies watch over me I wish for you that your "angels" watch over you for the rest of this holiday season.

If you build it...

My mind drifts back to the amazing summer of 2012 and these images keep entering...

They imagined themselves shipwrecked, saw their place in the bigger picture of things and added signs pointing the way on a cold, windy day.

Somebody really had a lot of time on their hands!

Structure on Comber's Beach, west coast Vancouver Island

A less isolated beach inspired this more modern looking creation...

Structure on Sidney Spit

When I see these pics I can feel the warmth of the sun
beating on my skin, :-)

Then there are structures for dreamers to dream in...

The yurt at Mosswood Hollow where we dreamed.

Inside a warm fire welcomed us every morning.

At the end of Robert's Dream Teacher Training I at Mosswood we created projects inspired by our dream studies together. A lovely fairy presence sang to herself as she danced about amongst the bushes, trees and flowers. What is she doing? I asked myself.

This is what she was doing...

I missed it when I passed by the morning
of our presentations.

She created a perfectly inviting home for garden devas and fairies!

And then there are the homey spaces nature provides...

Look real close and you'll see the entrance to the right,
shielded by leaves.

I don't know who calls this home. I didn't dare peek in too closely.

DANCES WITH SYNCHRONICITY

Yesterday Rod and I, movie buffs that we are, saw MIDNIGHT'S CHILDREN and THE LIFE OF PI at the Varsity Cinema in downtown Toronto. This theatre always has the best movies and with coffee shops, a Chapter's and a great little Italian restaurant surrounding the 3 flight escalator leading up to the Varsity it's a fun location to hang out while you're waiting for the show to start.

We had an hour to kill before the first show, so we sauntered over to the book store (I could spend a whole day in book stores) where I found a display of cook books. I'm not a bad cook myself - siege cooking is my specialty - making something out of whatever you find in your pantry. But, preferring to be elsewhere and doing anything but cook, most of the time, the kitchen is my swearing zone. I work at super human speed just to get the food and myself outta there. This behaviour, I believe, is a conditioned response from years of working in restaurants.

DEARIE - The remarkable life of Julia Child by Bob Spitz, with a youthful Julia on the book's cover smiling at something off in the distance, captured my attention. I loved watching her when I was a kid - that voice, that sense of humour, that great enthusiasm and of course the wall with the pots and pans outlines amused me no end. So there I stood for the hour browsing through its pages.

As I scanned the book, pausing here and there to read full sections, my memories of the original Julia Child mixed with amazing re-enactments of TV show episodes (that I'd enjoyed watching for real) performed by the brilliant Meryl Streep as Julia in the movie JULIE AND JULIA.

God I'd like to see that movie again, I said to myself. I'll have to rent the video.

My thumb lit on commentary about Dan Aykroyd's impersonation/parody of Julia preparing a chicken dish on a daytime T.V. interview show. She had cut her thumb in the process but continued on with her thumb wrapped in a towel. In Aykroyd's version she succumbs to her wound yelling "save the liver" as she collapses over the chicken. Child apparently loved this.

A here's a lovely synchronicity, Aykroyd has a connection with Julia. His aunt was considered the Julia Child of Canada. Here's the story about that and the birth of that handy kitchen gadget the Bassomatic...



Upon my return tonight from the monthly, full moon fire ceremony, which I found particularly powerful and magical, I performed my usual kitchen frenzy dance as I prepared myself squash soup combining left over squash and yam with freshly sautéed mushrooms, onions, garlic and turmeric. It was a siege cooking success. Since I'm no Julia Child, Rod enjoyed a nuked Shepherd's pie that I'd purchased from Longo's this afternoon.

We dined watching TV and as Rod flipped between channels there was Amy Adams, as Julie, blogging on her computer about her efforts to cook one of Julia's dishes; a scene from JULIE AND JULIA. A major hit for synchronicity! The movie includes Aykroyd's "save the liver" skit which was a lovely bonus.

Unfortunately I wasn't able to find the "save the liver" skit but, since there was also reference to Aykroyd's classic "bassomatic" skit, in both the book and the interview above, I'll include it for your enjoyment...

On the Street - SUITCASE DIARIES

My friends on Vancouver Island, make me feel welcome and at home. I housesat for many of them during the '80's when I was struggling to develop my cartoon strip, and have had the opportunity to stay with them on visits to the island since that time. Their presence gives me a sense of belonging. This past Sept, we shared tales of adventure, laughs, our deepest thoughts, hopes and dreams over dinner, on hikes and while lingering on living room couches before heading off to our respective bedrooms.

I am one of the lucky ones! As I was reminded last Thurs night, others are not so blessed.

It was the night of the Sleep Out a fund raising event in which CEO's and notable business leaders slept in sleeping bags on pieces of cardboard on a paved parking lot outside of Covenant House (the host of the event) in Toronto to raise awareness of the plight of the city's homeless youths (3,000 was one estimate).

*        *        *

I love this vantage point!

Frank Sinatra's voice sets the tone, "That old black magic's has me in its spell...". It's 3:15p.m. Only coffee and dessert are served that's exactly what I, and a smattering of other patrons, desire. Staff casually go about the business of preparing for the dinnertime rush as cheerful banter flows between them.

A waiter serves me in an equally casual, familiar manner saying, as he places my order before me, "You will enjoy this Americano, it's the best in town and I made it special for you." I feel like I've dropped into someone's home.

I sit appreciating the moment, gratitude overflowing, with a big grin on my face, in my familiar corner table at my old haunt, PAGLIACCI's. The aroma of black coffee wafts its way to my nostrils, soothes my soul and, along with the massive piece of chocolate cheesecake, renders me spellbound...

MMM, the best cheesecake ever and sooo rich!

I swore I would finish my treat but a vast serving remains.

As the waiter offers me a refill on my coffee he asks, "Can I package that up for you?"

"No, I can't take it home. I'm staying in a kosher house-hold and can't bring it into the house. I really hate to throw it out though."

"Take it to Doug and View. You'll find someone who'll appreciate it. There's a guy with a scruffy beard that hangs out there. I give him extra stuff left over from my shift all the time. He's a good guy, just down on his luck and, if he's not there, there are lots of others. If you don't find anyone just leave the container on top of the garbage bin, someone will take it."

  

At the bus stop at Douglas and View St, looking for scruffy-bearded guy, to give the remainder of my chocolate cheesecake to, a spare-toothed man sitting on a bench catches my eye. His clothes are grubby, his hair dishevelled and a battered guitar case leans against him. 

We nod at each other as if we were old friends. He waives me over and asks with a smile, "How's it goin' in the hood?"

"Pretty good" I nod. "I've been travelling around for a few weeks; staying with friends along the way."

"Me," he says, "I'm headed up island to go campin' with my wife. I love campin' more than anything…not more than my wife though, I love her more." 

We laugh.

He continues, "It's good to have people to visit. Makes you feel like you belong."

Taking in the timeliness of his comment, I smile, "It does indeed. Well, I gotta go."

He signs off with a wave, "Peace, love and Harley Davidson to ya" 

I turn to go, then stop and turn to him. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone who'd like some chocolate cheesecake, would you?"

Eagerly he replied. "Oh ya, I would." 

I gave it to him and walked away.

I don't know if he got on the bus he seemed to be waiting for; if there would be a fire to warm him on that cool summer night, inspiring him to sing and strum his guitar; or if there was a wife waiting on the other end of the line or if she resided only in his mind as a memory of better times or a dreamed present. 

*        *        *

The fact is, Victoria, with its moderate climate, is mecca for people living on the street. Their beds don't consist of folded cardboard boxes placed over subway-line grates in subzero weather that threatens frostbite. Many disappear into the park which conceals their presence and keeps them safe for one more night.

©Nance Thacker 1984

on the outer edges of Beacon Hill Park

Later that same evening I had the good fortune to be able to treat one of my hosts to a meal at Passero's Restaurant where we spent a few hours lingering over a glass of wine and spanakopita with rice and veg - mmm! But, as is always the case, I can only finish half of it. Adele heads home and it's back to Doug and View for me. Those few that wander the night hours dance with fear and suspicion. I place my carton on top of a bin, knowing someone's growling stomach will be satiated for a few hours at least and make my way "home" feeling deep gratitude for the path my life has taken.

Someone on their way to settle in for the night.

Upon my return to Ontario Adele sent me a poem inspired by our time together and my leaving titled CHEERIO; the last line is "Thank goodness friends are everywhere."

My e-mail to her ends with, "Thanks my friend for being part of my belonging."

SPITS - Suitcase Diaries

I've got spit on my mind...Tyee Spit, Rebecca Spit and Sidney Spit. It all started in August during my visit to Vancouver Island...

Rod and I spent many twilight nights down at Tyee Spit in Campbell River enchanted by the sight of clusters of small classic rowboats manned by 2 or 3 members, and aspiring members, of the Tyee Club as they fished for salmon. The boats must be rowed. One or two fishermen cast unbaited lines of a specified weight and wait for the tug on their line. If a salmon of over 30lbs is landed in the boat, the angler becomes a member of the Tyee Club.

The age old nature of the pursuit of the salmon transports me to ancient, mythical times. One night as I watch the fishermen/women, I imagine canoes paddling upstream.

*        *        *

In 2010 Rebecca Spit was covered in jelly fish.

They lurked in its waters making it unfit for swimming, so I wasn't too eager to spend a sunny, warm, perfect for swimming, afternoon at this Quadra Island spit. Incredibly, crystal clear, cool waters greet us. I swim, drinking in soul's refreshment, while Rod and his sister Sue chat and read.

Families, kids and dogs are also enjoying this long-awaited glorious, summer day. It is perfection. I relax like a happy, wet dog (hopefully not as smelly) in the back seat of the car on our way home.

*        *        *

A few days later, on the drive back to Maple Bay from the Genoa Bay Café, where I shared a delicious fish and chip dinner and a jug of sangria with my friends Irene and Garth, Garth tells me of a film he knows I'll enjoy - OVER BEAUTIFUL BRITISH COLUMBIA: AN AERIAL ADVENTURE. Irene knows that he's offering this evening of cinema, in hopes that it's magic will capture my heart and ensure my return to my spiritual home.

From our comfy chairs, we fly in a bird's eye view over cities, mountains, forests, rivers, waterways and shores. Of all of the scenes that we pass over, Sidney Spit captivates me. As luck would have it I leave for Sidney the next day (Tues) to spend a few days at my friend Marlene's.

At 10 a.m., on Thurs, for a meagre $20, I board the catamaran ferry from downtown Sidney, headed for Sidney Spit.  About 45 people, including a very energetic and enthusiastic public school class and 2 excited dogs enjoy the 30 minute sail. Though I plan to explore for only a few hours, 1 o'clock and 3p.m. sailings pass by.

In 1985 the Purple Martin population was down to
5 breeding pairs. Thanks to the success of the nest box
program, the number went up to 650 breeding pairs,
in the the Strait of Georgia, by 2007.

This is the sandy part of the spit. The upright logs
were placed to decrease the threat of erosion  by
the incoming tides and waves. This is what it looked
like when I arrived...

And this is what the same spot, viewed from the ferry
as we headed home at high tide.
Note: there is much more to the spit than this section; a lovely
forest and field comprises about 2/3rds of it.

I return on the last sailing at 4:30 landing me in downtown Sidney on the last market evening of the season. I count my blessings as pass by stalls filled with sensory delights, as I walk home to Marlene's, tanned from my outing and contentedly munching some doughy, fried delight.

*       *        *

Sept 8th after witnessing the raising of Hosagami totem pole on the Lieutenant Governor's grounds I go over to see the newly completed carving of The Salmon People that graces the Government House Bandshell but am disappointed when I realize that I can't stay to see its unveiling. A small booklet honouring the event contains the story of THE LEGEND OF THE SALMON PEOPLE explaining why the salmon return annually to the Fraser River.  This carving symbolizes the respectful interrelationship between this beautiful land, its people and animals.

There are different versions of the Salmon people, but I'll tell you the tale from the booklet of a time when the salmon stopped swimming up the river. The animals, who depended on the salmon for food, devised a plan to steal the son of the Chief of the Salmon people who lived, as people, in a village on a beach by the ocean. The animals paddled up the Fraser River (this is the scene depicted in the carving) and Mouse chewed holes in all the canoes; the Salmon people had to transform themselves into fish in order to follow. The animals tossed clothing in each of the tributaries of the river to "entice the salmon up each stream". The salmon have returned every year since then...

And yes, like the Salmon and the Purple Martins, I'll be returning next summer too.

Tales from the nursing home

Last Thursday, in passing a group huddled around the strapping man slumped in his wheelchair I became the witness.

"You're NOT dying." His wife says; her tone slightly exasperated.
"No really, you are so healthy. Remember yesterday? You were going a mile a minute. We couldn't keep up with you." A nurse cajoles him, hoping to shift him out of his funk.
"Maybe all you need is a little hug." A personal care worker leans over his wheelchair, embraces him, rubbing his back as if to deliver the hug even deeper into his being.
The tightly formed group laugh gently in their attempts to rally his spirit.

I know this man, Lorne. I see him almost every time I come to provide Shiatsu for E, a fellow nursing home resident. It's clear to me that he is not his usual self. He is handsome, with thick white hair; possessing a gentle nature and ready, perfect smile. His upright, strong posture is a testament to the once physically fit, vibrant man that he was and so he looks younger than his 70 plus years. The toll of Alzheimer's insidious progression brought him here a few years ago.

But today, his sense of suffering wafts off of him forming a grey wispy cloud that invades the atmosphere. He sits deflated and crumpled, as if the air has been let out of him. Uncharacteristically, he makes no eye contact.

Continuing on my way down the hall I witness another scene playing out unbeknownst to the group clustered around Lorne.

At first all I see is the backs of 2 paramedics. As I come closer they are the model of efficiency, arranging tubes, other life saving equipment and straps on a gurney. Wordlessly, they step into position for transport. An old woman lays under the gurney's white sheet. The practiced calmness of the team and her quiet, acceptance and stillness make it difficult for me to determine her state of emergency.

It is a few days before the full moon; things are afoot. Terrors and fears are shared communally.

*         *        *

The black charge nurse from the West Indies, the eldest of 19 children, is telling tales, laughing and shaking her head. "Imagine that" she says, "a bunch of them throughout the day, insisting that they have to get to the front door. At one time there were 5 from our house and a few others from some of the other 4 houses all lined up in their wheelchairs waiting for the "bus" but nobody could tell us where they were going." She puts her hand on her hip and nods her head with firm assurance, "Just that the bus was going to pick them up."Then she leans over speaking confidentially, "There was no bus. It was a Sunday." 

It's the middle of a cool, starry summer night in 2009. Moonlight shines brightly through the window at the end of the hall, casting eerie shadows upon the carpet. Some residents are roaming about or sleeping restlessly. Mom's been unwell so I've come to maintain vigil outside her doorway; a big armchair serves as a makeshift bed. Periodically I'm awoken from my light drifting as nurses and staff come and go checking vitals, turning and changing Mom as needed. I'm glad that Gail, one of Mom's favourite nurses, has stopped to talk. She takes in stride all that goes on in the home, in the minds of the residents and is respectful of their other-worldly experiences.

"Of course the next day it was as if nothing had happened. Full moons, yup strange things happen on full moons." She walks her cart of meds, drink and snacks down the hall to sooth another soul who's slipped between the veils. "We notice it and so do hospitals." 

*        *        *

A few days later, Mom's greatly improved and so we're getting ready to head out for a "spin". I bundle her into her chair so that she can grab some rays and hopefully watch children playing in the adjacent park. An enormous stuffed dog has appeared at the base of Mom's bed. Did she take it from another resident? Things "have legs" here and this is quite possible. Though how would she have managed to get him in her room without someone noticing? Maybe it's a gift from her "friendly visitor", Jill.

Power animal totems in nursing home

I need to make sure he's where he should be. In an environment where people own so little, someone would definitely be missing him.

Gail tells me, "No, he's a friendly visitor too. We use him to comfort residents when they seem a little beside themselves. They like his size and softness of his fur. He'll stay with her for a while and when she no longer needs him, he'll go on to someone else who does."

Does she realize she's talking about him as if he is animate, I wonder?

The stuffed animals we give to young children serve as their confidants and protectors. Their soft and cheery appearances make them perfect for snuggling and comfort. But in dreamtime they come to life helping the child fend off any terrors of the night by giving them courage, standing beside them or intervening when necessary. They also serve the elderly who drift from one world to the other and in between.